


So Small A Thing

by laure_lie (justawks)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Gen, Minor Violence, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justawks/pseuds/laure_lie
Summary: "Where did you get the water?" he asks.Water is scarce, nearly gone. It is a precious commodity. No matter how nice you are, you shouldn't be giving away whole canteens, nearly 4 pints of water, unless you have a source.or, the world gets hot





	1. begin

The world gets hotter and hotter. The world gets drier and drier. He’s waiting for it to stop, for someone to stand and announce it’s all a joke, but he waits too long and suddenly everything is real. 

Jungwoo came to the city after high school, theoretically to work before college but really so he could experience city life. He’d grown up in the distant suburbs and had always felt pressured by the gleaming white fences and neat plots of land. He took his first opportunity to get out, and didn’t look back.

He lived in an apartment with some roommates. They were nice guys, from a similar background as him. They all coexisted; went to work, came home and shared some takeout, went to sleep to do it all again. They weren’t particularly close, so he wasn’t that hurt when the news got more serious and they stopped coming home. It was fine until he realized he was alone, had been alone for quite some time. That was fine for a while too, once the initial panic had settled, but then the water is well and truly gone and he is well and truly alone.

So he goes outside. 

It's a little terrifying, at first. The outside is empty and hot and dry and dusty. These great gusts of sand and dust cloud his eyes and fill his lungs, and the people he passes try and take his water. It's been so long since he's spoken, been so long since he's seen anyone--he's not sure what it is that ticks them off, but he finds himself face down in the dust with the ghosts of blows to his ribs lingering painfully. They leave him alone when they realize he doesn't have any, a few parting kicks to his prone body so he remembers them--not that he'll be able to forget quickly, especially with the way breathing has become harder than it was already.

Time stretches out, then. He is in pain, and he is tired, and he is so, so thirsty. He finds dregs of water in bottles buried in the sand. He drinks rusted drops from the mouths of faucets that haven't run in months. He is frustrated, angry (thoughts of his parents flash in his mind, but he hasn't heard from them in months, or seen them in longer. There are regrets and then there are regrets, and sometimes it feels as though they will overwhelm him.) He wants to cry, but there isn't enough moisture left. Not in him, not outside of him. He sticks to the shade; his skin has never taken well to the sun, and now it is relentless. Time passes, and his ability to wake up in the morning lessens every day. He's not sure how long he's been away from his apartment - a few days? a few weeks?

It is Day 10 (although he doesn’t know this) on the outside when he finds he can't open his eyes anymore. He thinks about how long it has been since he's laid eyes on the lavender bush to the right of the front door on his childhood home and he thinks of the feeling of his mother's hand on his cheek for the first time, for the last time, and he swears the scent of lavender fills his nose. He sinks down further into the sand, wants it to end, hopes it will end, and then--

He can't understand them, at first. Once their words become clearer, he realizes he still can't understand them. Is this his introduction to Hell, perhaps, cursed to be unable to communicate? But there is a soft clearing of a throat, and a gentle voice is asking "Hello?" and so no, that is not it. A hand appears on his shoulder, shakes him once, and oh, his ribs do not like that. He feels the cry leave his mouth, quiet and strangled but surprisingly anguished. A wave of pain washes over him, rises against the back of his neck and fills his ears. It fizzles out in time for him to hear what sound like exclamations of concern, although he can't be certain. He thinks to himself that he should open his eyes and so he does, painfully and slowly. He feels the grit on the backs of his eyelids scrape against the balls of his eyes and resists the urge to whine. It takes a few moments of slow, heavy blinking for his vision to clear. 

There are two boys above him, about his age, he would guess. One is tall and lanky, with rounded eyes and prominent ears. His hair is a straw blond, wind-ruffled and dusty but cropped neatly against his head. The other boy is smaller, softer, with a kind face and lighter blonde strands in soft waves across his forehead. 

The tall boy speaks again, and although he hears it clearly he can't understand. He shakes his head softly, blinks twice, before the other boy asks softly "Are you alright?"

It's a ridiculous question; of course he's not alright. He feels compelled to answer him, though, and opens his mouth. He hasn't spoken since he left his apartment, other than grunts as he was kicked into the ground or mutterings under his breath as he drank from leaking faucets. His throat is dry, so dry, but he grinds out a "Ribs..." a sharp cough cutting off the end of his statement. 

The smaller boy nods, eyes crinkling in what Jungwoo is choosing to read as sympathy. He turns to the taller boy and says something quickly. The boy nods, standing and walking a few feet away. He crouches down, but Jungwoo can't see due to the angle and the strain of looking his hurting his neck. The boy still kneeling next to him coughs, gently, and Jungwoo turns to look. 

The boy puts a hand against his own chest, hand splayed wide, and says "Kun." He turns his yes to the taller boy, who has returned from whatever he was doing. Jungwoo looks too, and sees a bundle in his arms. Kun points at the boy and says "Lucas."

The boy, who must be Lucas, nods excitedly, kneeling back down next to Jungwoo and unwrapping the black fabric of the bundle. 

He pulls out two large canteens, the audible slosh of the liquid inside echoing in Jungwoo's ears. Lucas uncaps one of the canteens and holds it out to Jungwoo. He feels like crying. He would cry, if he could.

He raises a hand to grab the canteen, a faded green with battered sides and several scuffs but probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen nonetheless. He brings it to his lips, and gently tips it back. He's seen all the movies (before things got hot, before the TVs turned off and people lost interest, before his entire world had crumbled to dust and he found himself alone in a desert that had not existed a few month previously) so he knows to take it slow. A single mouthful, swallowed down. A pause, then another. He lowers his head back to the sand, takes a few moments to relish the shade and the soothing sensation of water rolling down his throat and the feeling of people, other humans, next to him. He opens his eyes and smiles softly. 

"Jungwoo," he offers. 

And so things go from there. Over the next few hours he drinks an entire canteen and feels like a new man for it. He's able to sit up against the rough brick behind him and get a better look at these boys who have found him. 

He learns that Kun is 22 years old, born and raised overseas. He's been here for a few months, maybe two; the heat came only a week after his arrival, but even by then it was too late to leave. Lucas has been here longer, but picked up far less of the language. He can understand, clearly, eyes bright and listening intently as Kun and Jungwoo converse, but he struggles with vocab. Whatever language it is that they have in common, Lucas is careful to keep Jungwoo from feeling excluded as they exchange. 

They are friendly, with wide smiles, and they are generous with their water -- a trait that no longer existed, Jungwoo had thought. Kun is careful to be inclusive in his statements, references to the three of them doing things in the future. Jungwoo appreciates it, even though he knows it's stupid to get attached to people like this. That's not how the world works anymore, he's fairly certain. 

Finally, when the sun has begun to set and the temperature is dropping, blessedly, he asks the question that has been on his mind.

"Where did you get the water?" he asks.

Water is scarce, nearly gone. It is a precious commodity. No matter how nice you are, you shouldn't be giving away whole canteens, nearly 4 pints of water, unless you have a source. 

Kun shrugs and looks to Lucas, who smiles. "Lucas always finds us water," Kun says. 

"How?" Jungwoo asks, before he can stop himself.

Now it's Lucas' turn to shrug, eyes dropping to his lap. 

"I'm...luck?" Lucas questions, looking to his older companion.

"Lucky," Kun corrects. Lucas nods. 

"Lucky," Lucas repeats with a smile. "I'm lucky." 

That's how it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited! 5/8/18


	2. blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the group expands

Things are awkward, at first. Maybe he is projecting, but Jungwoo feels constantly aware of how little he is contributing to their group. Lucas finds the water, Kun makes the plans, and Jungwoo merely follows. He is grateful, so grateful he may never fully be able to express it, but with each passing day he feels the tension in his shoulders rise. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it keeps him on edge. 

It doesn't help that he's never been very good at making friends. As a child he was too gentle, too quiet and unsure to invite others to play. Keeping to himself was a habit he never truly grew out of, something he grows more keenly aware of with every passing day. 

It's practically the apocalypse, he's found perhaps the only two remaining nice people on earth, and he can't get over himself enough to start up conversation or offer a small smile. How long will they be able to take his presence before they ask him to leave, he wonders. 

The past few months of too much sun and not enough water have been hard on his body, he knows. He can feel it in the dull ache in his skull, the sharp creaks of his joints, the cracking skin on the backs of his hands. But his ears still work fine. And Kun and Lucas whisper in their language. They mutter under their breath and they laugh together. How they can be so carefree, he does not understand. They've barely known each other for a month, the two of them, but they are so close. Jungwoo is no longer alone, he knows, but with every passing day he feels more alone. He begins to wonder what it would be like to have a friend with him - a dangerous thought in a world such as this. 

But life goes on. They move every day, finding new nook and crannies to spend the night in. The streets are empty; the only sounds is wind, and dust, and the crunch of sand beneath their sneakers. 

Lucas disappears in the morning, appears by high noon with their canteens full and a smile on his face. Kun tells stories at night, eyes soft and warm. Jungwoo lets himself settle into the routine.

He's only been with them a few days when they find the gas station. They've been gradually moving away from the center of town, eager to get away from the rubble and dust and the roving gangs willing to do nearly anything for their meager supply of water. 

It's red and white and rusted, an ugly but familiar sight. 

Even from a good distance away, it's clear that the building is largely untouched. The inside is dark, but the glass windows and doors are intact, and the shelves are clearly full. It's odd that no one has disturbed such a valuable wealth of supplies. Jungwoo feels a warning rise up the back of his neck, and Kun seems a little hesitant as well, but Lucas is shouting something neither of them can really understand and lurching forward excitedly. 

He's at the front door in a few seconds, pushing against the glass with his shoulder. The door opens, hinges protesting at the movement, and Lucas is slipping inside. 

Jungwoo and Kun follow quickly, not wanting to leave the other alone. Lucas' figure is visible retreating into the aisles. He heads for the snack aisle almost immediately, and Kun shrugs his shoulders and follows after. Jungwoo hovers near the door for all of thirty seconds before pushing himself away and following after. No sense in being alone, after all.

He rounds the corner to find Lucas gleefully tearing open a bag of chips, a fond smile on Kun's face as he watches. Jungwoo is again struck with the feeling of being an outsider, looking in.

"I'm gonna go look for water," he mumbles, turning on his heel and heading for the back wall of the store. 

The coolers are right where he expected. Floor to ceiling doors of glass cover case after case of water, soda, and juice. A welcome sight, certainly. 

He's pulling open the door to the cooler, eyes filled with the sight of fresh, distilled water, when he hears the squeak of sneakers on the linoleum behind him. His blood runs cold and he stills. He's not sure how, but he knows without a doubt that a stranger is standing behind him. The lingering pain in his ribs pulses once, twice - a reminder of his last unfortunate encounter with other strange, unknown people. Jungwoo turns on his heels, slowly, letting the cooler door fall shut behind him. 

It's a boy. He's tall and thin, with fried blonde hair and small, angry eyes. He has strips of colored tape across his knuckles, the only color in his outfit of black t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. He's holding a basket, which takes Jungwoo a moment to comprehend; the normalcy is striking, so out of place in this abandoned gas station in the middle of an apocalyptic desert. 

He spares a glance into the basket. Sees hair bleach, of course, and medications. A candy bar, bent at such an angle that Jungwoo can only assume its been melted and re-cooled so many times it has lost all semblance of its original shape. The things the heat can do. 

He doesn't look particularly threatening. He's clearly young, for all that he's of height with Jungwoo. He's thin too, almost too thin; his joints are sharp points, his cheekbones the peaks of sloped cheeks. They stare at each other for a few moments before Jungwoo opens his mouth.

"Wha--"

"Don't," the boy cuts him off. "I'm not gonna do anything. Leave me alone and I'll leave you alone." 

Jungwoo nods dumbly. The boy smirks, before he turns on his heel and walks back down the aisle away from Jungwoo. 

He stands there for a few more moments, before he moves to go find Kun and Lucas. Perhaps they had spoken to the strange, thin boy. He wonders where he is from, who he is with, why he was there alone. He wonders if there are lots of others like him, young and alone. It's a sobering thought. 

He's rounding the corner of the snack aisle, expecting to see Lucas and Kun as they were. He sees an empty aisle, though, and hears the shattering of glass. 

Without a thought he rushes forward, back towards the front of the store. He's picturing Lucas and Kun standing off against the boy. Picturing punches being thrown and lips being split. He takes faster steps, stumbling as he rounds the corner near the rack of chewing gum and takes in the sight in front of him. 

Lucas stands against the counter, crowding Kun behind the relative safety of his taller frame. Kun's hands are wrapped tight around his shoulders, visibly clutching the thin fabric of the grey windbreaker Lucas never takes off. 

A large, muscled man in a red sweatshirt and muddied jeans is clutching the thin boy, grabbing tightly onto his upper arms. "Water," he growls, but the thin boy just shakes his head.

"I don't have any on me, asshole," he spits out. 

The man shakes him again, harder, and growls again. "Where do you get your water?" he asks. 

The kid rolls his eyes. "From the coolers, here, duh. The heat must've gotten to your head, god, what a dumb question." His voice is disdainful, dismissive. His lips curl, as in disgust, and the man tightens his hold on his arms. 

The man draws him in before throwing him to the ground, pushing him backwards and away. The kid stumbles, clearly not prepared for the sudden force against him. His arms pinwheel as he falls back, slamming against the frame of what Jungwoo can now see was the front door, glass punched out. The thin teenager hits the ground with a crunch of glass, crying out.

A sharp "No!" draws Jungoo's attention back to his companions. Lucas' face is red, eyebrows pinched, as he repeats himself. "No, ours!"

Kun releases his hold on Lucas' jacket, patting a hand against his chest. He says something softly that Jungwoo can neither hear nor understand. "It's fine," Kun finishes softly in their shared language. "It's okay."

Lucas looks tense, but he nods. He bends his knees, grabbing the torn backpack that had been resting at his feet. The slosh of their canteens, both full, is the only sound in the room. 

Lucas tosses the backpack to the man, who grabs a hold of it with another rough sound. He turns to Jungoo and sends a sneer his way, before pushing past him towards the back of the gas station. He returns a few moments later, arms full of bottles of water. He sends them all another look, probably intended to be threatening, before stepping over the prone body of the kid and back through the busted door. 

His footsteps thud against the pavement as he walks away, growing fainter and fainter until he can't be heard anymore. 

Jungwoo glances around. Lucas has spun, back to the door, and has both arms wrapped tight around Kun. Kun's hand is running soothing circles on Lucas' back, his head tucked tight against the taller's chest. 

Jungwoo averts his eyes to the ground, then back up in the other direction. The kid has yet to get up, still lying on the floor on the remains of the door. Jungwoo takes a few cautious steps before crouching down next to him. 

"Are you...alright?" he asks carefully. 

The boy looks at him, and his eyes are wide, and he looks young, so young, and something is wrong. Jungwoo shifts to his knees, hands coming up to hover over the boy's chest as thought that will identify and solve the problem. 

"What happened? What's wrong?" he asks, frantic. 

The boy moves his arm, which up until now had been held tightly against his right ribs, and--oh god. 

"Kun," Jungwoo says quietly. 

"Kun," he repeats when he gets no response. 

(Kun is older, Kun is level-headed. He will know what to do.)

Finally, he yells "Kun!" turning on his knees to look at his companion, voice desperate and high. 

Because there is blood, spreading out in a slow circle away from the boy. There is a shard of glass in his side, glittering in the light, the constant sunlight, filtering in through the shattered door. 

Kun and Lucas, sensing the urgency in his voice, both turn to look. Something in his expression must be enough, because both of the foreigners quickly come closer. 

Kun, when he sees the blood, makes a wordless exclamation. He tears off the light scarf he likes to wear to keep the sand from his mouth and nose, and kneels against the floor. He presses the scarf against the wound, gently, but the boy still cries out. 

Lucas, when he sees the blood, lets out a yell. He stumbles backwards a few steps, hand over his mouth and eyes wide. 

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts," Kun says in that soft, gentle voice of his. "Can you tell us your name?" 

The boy scrunches his nose and closes his eyes, mouth twisted in pain. "Jisung," he whispers. 

"Hello Jisung," Kun answers. "My name is Kun. This is Jungwoo, and over there is Lucas. We'd like to help you. Is there somewhere we can take you?" 

Jungwoo opens his mouth. He's not sure what he's going to say--of course there's nowhere we can take him, he's alone or what do we do oh god what do we do or we have no water and we can't let this kid die but we have no water oh god--but Jisung speaks before he can. 

"Yes. It's, um, it's not far. They could...we have water. If you take me there, they'll give you water, I swear." 

He sounds close to tears, which is understandable. His voice is tight, desperate. He wants to convince them to help, Jungwoo thinks, and it makes him sad. Kun nods. 

"Okay, we can take you there," he says,

"It's not far," Jisung says again, a few gentle tears finally rolling down his cheeks. "I swear." 

"Okay," Kun repeats, nodding. "We'll take you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally not proof-read, so please excuse any errors or if something makes no sense lmao
> 
> enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Jungwoo doesn't believe him, at first. When Jisung points straight out into the desert, away from the safety and familiarity of the city itself, he wants to change his mind. He and Lucas and Kun were making their way away from downtown, sure, but they never had any plans to leave the city entirely. The city has a far better chance of getting water, of catching rain (if it ever rains again), of providing shelter. 

The desert is unknown, and that scares Jungwoo. 

Jisung insists, though. He swears up and down that there is water out there, that he'll make it worth their time. He seems worried; worried they'll leave him, worried they'll hurt him further. Jungwoo tries to smile comfortingly whenever he can, but he isn't sure it ever helps. 

Jisung also insists he can walk. His legs are fine, it's just the small hole in his side that's causing problems. They get him out of his shirt, which confirms Jungwoo's suspicions that he's too thin, and wrap a gauze bandage tightly around his chest. The glass hadn't actually been imbedded. It had deeply nicked his side, a painful slash along his ribs. The bandage seems to do something to stop the blood, and Jisung doesn't complain about the pain, so Jungwoo considers is a success. 

They get him dressed again and grab the few remaining plastic bottles of water for the road. Jisung slings an arm over Jungwoo's shoulder, giving him some of his weight. 

And then they're off. 

The desert is not what Jungwoo had been expecting. The sand is deeper than expected, and each step feels like he has weights strapped to his ankles. Without the protective shade from buildings the heat of the sun feels amplified. He can feel his skin burning, feel the sand running raw against his exposed ankles. His penchant for torn jeans is doing him a disservice; burning grains of sand are making their way down the insides of his pants. 

Every time he wants to stop and take a rest he remembers Jisung's whimper of pain. He looks to his right, to the boy with an arm slung over his shoulder. He's pale despite the sun and heat, but his brow is less pinched than it had been. As if sensing the eyes on him, Jisung turns to Jungwoo and flashes him a smile. It's small, but it transforms his face. He looks young, so young, and Jungwoo can't help it when the "How old are you?" bursts past his lips. 

"16," Jisung says softly. 

Jungwoo isn't sure what to say, so he says nothing. _Sorry you have to deal with the end of the world when you're still a teenager_ , maybe, but that seems sort of insensitive. There's nothing anyone can do, after all. 

The fall back into silence, only the howls of wind and the occasional grunt as someone's foot sinks too deep into the sand. It is hot and it is dry, but they continue on. 

In the end, it's not that bad. Jisung isn't lying; it's not far. 

The dot appears on the horizon maybe two hours after they've truly left town. Jungoo can feel the burn on his scalp, on his shoulders, on the back of his neck, but the way Jisung perks up at the hazing form on the horizon makes him stand taller, pick up the pace just a little bit. 

As the grow closer the building begins to loom over the horizon, the only change as far as Jungwoo can see. It's black and massive, with wide flaps of canvas covering the outside haphazardly, presumably to keep the sand out.

Jisung visibly relaxes once the building comes fully into sight, shoulders dropping down and head hanging heavy on his neck. 

Jungwoo spares him a glance and sees tears on his cheeks. He leans closer. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Jisung nods. "Yeah. I just thought..." he trails off. 

"You thought we might not make it?" Jungwoo guesses. Jisung only nods. "Well, we're here now. Where's the entrance?" he asks. 

Jisung raises a hand to point towards the right side of the building, where the canvas is most prominent. It's most likely covering a doorway, Jungwoo thinks, and turns to head in that direction. 

It's only a few moments later, as he and Jisung take a few shuffling steps towards the building, that the figure appears. 

He's tall, taller than Jungwoo and Jisung both. He's broad, too, with wide shoulders and slim hips. He's wearing a torn grey t-shirt under a green jacket, legs clad in faded jeans. His feet are partially covered, sunken halfway into the sand, but the tops of boots peek out. 

His arms are crossed and his brows are furrowed and--he's intimidating. Jungwoo feels his shoulders tense up, ever so slightly, as the man in front of them opens his mouth. 

"Jisung," is all he says, voice surprisingly soft. Jungwoo feels Jisung sag ever so slightly against him. 

"Hyung," Jisung responds, voice coming out as half a sob. He lurches forward, away from Jungwoo's body. The man steps forward to catch him, arms coming neatly around Jisung's waist. He pulls him against his chest, gently, leaning down to whisper into Jisung's ear. Jisung shakes his head, then nods, before tucking himself against the man's neck and letting his eyes flutter closed. 

The man looks up, face vacant as he makes eye contact with Jungwoo. "Come inside," he says, head jerking behind him. He looks past Jungwoo, presumably to Lucas and Kun, who have been silently following. "You too." 

He turns, Jisung still held in his arms, and begins to cross the soft sand to the canvas-wrapped building. 

Left with no other choice, Jungwoo follows.


End file.
